Absolution
by unicorn-skydancer08
Summary: What if Tumnus wasn't so keen to forgive Edmund, after Edmund betrayed him? Everyone tries to convince Tumnus that Edmund has changed, but only Aslan can truly soften the faun's heart.
1. Part 1

**ABSOLUTION**

_Man, I'm really stoked about this story! In all my previous tales, Tumnus and Edmund get along exceptionally well. Then, one day, I got to thinking: what if it was just the opposite? What if it was a complete 180-degree turnaround, and Tumnus was angry and bitter towards Edmund? What if he wasn't so eager to let bygones be bygones? Hence, this story came about. Tumnus and Edmund have no association whatsoever in the book (not on a personal level), and __in the original movie, I noticed that Tumnus did appear just a bit cool towards Edmund. He didn't exactly smile and bow to him, the way he did with Lucy and Susan. I'm more than convinced that he warms up to Edmund, one day or another, but that scene proved to be the extra fuel for my imagination tanks. _

_You know the routine, folks. I expect you to review this when you're through (and I won't break your arm or lock you in the basement if you don't), and if you're gonna flame, you are dismissed._**  
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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08 **

_**All rights reserved. **_

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_"Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow." _

**~ 2 Corinthians 2:7 (NIV)**

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"Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future."_

— _Paul Boese_

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PART 1  
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At first, Tumnus tried to ignore the leaf of parchment that lay on his pillow. But in the end, he found himself picking it up, and reading the words that were scrawled onto it. It was a brief yet solemn message, expressing a heartfelt apology to Tumnus and petitioning the faun's forgiveness. The script was somewhat shaky and disjointed, as if the hand that wrote the letter couldn't quite hold the quill steady. Edmund's name was signed at the very bottom. When Tumnus read the name of Narnia's so-called "Just King", a sharp frown crossed his face.

He dared to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, young King Edmund himself stood in the doorway of the faun's private chambers, watching him fearfully and hopefully.

Tumnus said not a word to him, but only deliberately ripped the letter into pieces before his eyes.

First, he tore the parchment in half, then into fourths, then into eighths. Edmund shrank back slightly at the sight and sound of the terrible ripping. Every tear was like a tear to his own heart.

Tumnus made the pieces as small as he could manage, before finally tossing the shreds into the pile of cool ashes in his fireplace and casually dusting off his hands, one against the other. He still had not spoken one word in all that time, but he had made his point crystal-clear. Edmund wanted Tumnus to forgive him, and Tumnus flat-out refused to do so. Edmund only stood where he was, looking ready to cry. The look on his face would have melted anyone else's heart, but Tumnus was too angry and too resentful toward the boy to care.

It was already too late. The time for explanations and excuses was long past. Tumnus didn't care about why or how things came about the way they did.

All he cared about was that what had happened _had_ happened.

If Edmund expected them to kiss and make up, as easily as that, the boy had another thing coming.

Ultimately, Tumnus did approach Edmund, but only because the faun wanted to move to another room in the Cair, and Edmund was blocking his path.

Rather than ask politely, Tumnus said, quite coldly, "Would you get out of my way?"

Edmund's eyes glistened with unshed tears. His lower lip began to tremble, like a small child's. In a small, almost inaudible voice, the boy pleaded, "Mr. Tumnus, please…forgive me."

"Don't waste your breath," Tumnus answered unsympathetically.

"I'm sorry." One of the tears escaped and slid down Edmund's cheek, leaving a diamond trail. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Tumnus. I-I didn't mean to land you in trouble. I didn't think the Witch—"

"You didn't 'think'," Tumnus cut in. "That's the very problem with you, isn't it, Edmund Pevensie?" He spat the name out like it tasted nasty. "You don't _think_."

"I didn't intend for any of this to happen," said Edmund, a noticeable crack in his voice. "I never meant any harm, really I didn't. I'm sorry I told the Witch about you, Mr. Tumnus. I'm sorry I got your house destroyed, got you arrested…got you turned to stone." He nearly choked on that last bit. "I'm sorry for…for everything."

"Why should I believe you, Edmund? What reason do I have to trust you? You betrayed me. You betrayed us all. You were willing to sell out even your own sister, your very family!"

Edmund's tears began to fall more steadily at these harsh yet accurate words.

"I know," he moaned, sounding like he was being tortured. "I know you're right, Mr. Tumnus. I'm just _sorry_, okay?"

Tumnus was far from finished. "Do you truly expect me to simply forget about all that's happened," the faun demanded tersely, "act like everything's suddenly all right between you and me? After the hell you put me through, you expect me to pat you on the head and say that it's all right, that it was just a little mistake you made and I know you'll never do it again?"

Edmund bowed his head.

"No," he said tremulously, as he watched his tears spill to the floor. "I just…" He paused, drawing in a quivering breath. "I just don't want you to hate me, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus did not relent, but said in the same clipped tone, "Everyone else around here may accept you as their king, but you're no king of mine. The only reason I bothered to place that crown on your head was because all eyes were on me at the time, and I couldn't very well crown three out of four. You may be part of the prophecy, you may be one of the foretold Monarchs of Narnia—but I know the truth about you. You're nothing but a liar, and a coward. I refuse to forgive you, and I swear henceforth to have nothing to do with you, in any way, ever again."

Edmund closed his eyes, feeling as if a great crack had split his heart, right down the middle.

"Now, stand aside," Tumnus ordered.

Slowly, without another word, Edmund obeyed. Tumnus marched briskly past him, never sparing so much as a sidelong glance, and was soon gone.

When the faun was out of sight, and the sound of his hard hooves faded into silence, Edmund slumped back against the frame of the door in defeat. Very slowly, he let himself slide downward, all the way to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and let the tears flow freely. What was he to do? What _more_ could he do? Aslan had forgiven him for what he'd done. His brother and his sisters had forgiven him. The Beavers, along with Oreius and all the rest of Narnia, appeared to have forgiven him as well, as far as he knew. Why couldn't Tumnus?

Yet Edmund couldn't say he blamed the faun for being so angry.

In his mind's eye, he could still see Tumnus in the White Witch's ice dungeon, as clearly as a photograph. Tumnus was essentially skin, fur, and bones. Cruel chains bound him, his fine horns had been severed, and the scars and bruises on his body testified to a good number of brutal beatings. It made Edmund's skin crawl just to think about what Tumnus must have gone through. He, himself, had received a few sound thrashes from Jadis; he could scarcely comprehend how much worse it was for Tumnus.

Even now, Edmund could still hear the words that were spoken that day.

After Tumnus had been released from his bonds, and literally thrown at Jadis's feet, she'd said to him in her cool, haughty tone, "Do you know why you're here, faun?"

Tumnus, with hardly the strength to stand, had slowly lifted his face from the floor, looked the Witch squarely in the eye, and answered stanchly, "Because I believe in a free Narnia."

Then Jadis had said, pointing her deadly wand in Edmund's direction, "You're here, because _he_ turned you in—for sweeties."

Speechless, all Tumnus could do was stare at Edmund, and if Edmund lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never forget the look on the faun's face. From that gaunt face, from those hollow blue eyes, the shock, the disbelief, the horror, the discontent, and the devastating grief were so palpable that Edmund could literally feel it, as much as see it.

Shame and guilt such as Edmund had never felt before, or would have believed possible, exploded within him. The boy felt like he was going to be sick, there and then. Unable to face Tumnus, he'd abjectly turned away while Jadis ordered for Tumnus to be taken upstairs. Not so much later, when Ginarrbrik hauled Edmund up out of there, Edmund had frozen momentarily upon discovering that Tumnus had become a lifeless statue of cold, gray stone. It was the absolute worst fate the victims of the White Witch could receive, worse than death itself.

So, even though Tumnus was alive and whole again, it was no surprise that the faun begrudged Edmund, no wonder he held such blatant contempt for the boy.

Edmund knew what he did was wrong—he couldn't have done worse—and he was well aware that nothing could change the past.

Still, knowing that Tumnus hated him was a burden far greater than he could bear.

Since the coronation, and even before that, Edmund had tried everything to show Tumnus how sorry he was, that he wished to make things right. But it was no use.

Tumnus did not forgive him…and as far as Edmund could see, it looked like he never would.

* * *

Tumnus made his way swiftly through the corridors of the castle, heedless of where he was going. As a result, he almost collided with Beaver.

"Whoa—hey!" Beaver exclaimed, when he became aware of the faun. "Watch it!"

"Sorry, Beaver," Tumnus muttered, sounding only half-apologetic.

"What's the big rush, Tumnus? Is the castle on fire, or what?"

Tumnus said nothing, but Beaver saw the expression the faun wore on his face, and a look of genuine concern came over his own furry brown face.

"Are you all right? You look all hot and bothered, mate."

"It's nothing," Tumnus answered brusquely.

"Just nothing?" Beaver knew from past experience that a bit of "nothing" usually meant a great deal of "something". "Come, now, my boy, what's wrong? You can tell old Beaver all about it."

"If you really must know, Edmund came to me again."

"What for?" Beaver asked, though he was quite sure he already knew the answer.

"Oh, the usual." Tumnus made an accurate yet crude imitation of Edmund: "'Mr. Tumnus, I'm very sorry. I'm sorry I sold you out. Please forgive me. I want to make up and be friends.'"

"Don't you think you're being a little too hard on him?" Beaver asked mildly.

"No, I don't," said Tumnus, resuming his normal tone.

"I think he really is sorry, Tumnus. Can't you let it go?"

"I don't care how sorry he is. It's already too late for that. It was bad enough when I believed it was my own fault that I was arrested in the first place. I thought it was_ my_ carelessness that landed me in the icy clutches of the Witch. Then, when I saw Edmund, and discovered that he was Lucy's brother, I was sure I could trust him—only to find out a short time later that it was because of him I was trapped in there." Tumnus shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe how naïve I was," he muttered, "how quickly and easily I confided in him. After all, he was related to Lucy; how could he have been anything but a friend? But now I see him for what he truly is."

Beaver wisely kept silent during this heated tirade, but his dark eyes grew increasingly sorrowful the longer he listened.

"Because of him," Tumnus went on, "I lost literally everything. I lost my home, everything I owned, and, for a time, my very life. He put me through all that torture, all for the sake of a bit of candy, and the opportunity to be a prince. As if that weren't enough, he was ready to give Lucy up to the Witch herself. He was willing to condemn his whole family to an unspeakable death." Beaver made a slight flinch at that, knowing what Tumnus was saying was nothing short of the truth. "Now, he thinks that simply saying 'I'm sorry' will make everything better. Well, if he thinks he can get into my good graces just like that, he is sorely mistaken. I hate that sorry excuse for a Son of Adam."

"'Hate' is a strong word, mate," said Beaver quietly.

Tumnus said bitterly, "Not strong enough."

Beaver sighed heavily, and shook his head. At length, he said, "Well, Tumnus, I…I'm sorry you feel that way. Yes, it's true that all of us had much suffering because of Edmund." Looking up more fully at Tumnus, he added benevolently, "But don't you think Edmund has suffered just as much as we have, if not more? Don't you think he's had a change of heart?"

"Are you saying you forgive him for what he's done to us?"

"I'm not excusing him," Beaver said mildly, "but yes, I do forgive him. With my whole heart."

Holding his head high, Tumnus declared defiantly, "Well, you can't force me to do the same thing."

"You're right," Beaver countered, taking the faun somewhat aback. "Only _you_ can do that, Tumnus. Only _you _can make the ultimate decision."


	2. Part 2

**ABSOLUTION**

_Whew, I finally got this darn thing updated. It was tough writing, but I can't complain about the way it has turned out. _

_Writing, however slow and frustrating the process, is worth it if you come out with a good, solid story. I know Tumnus is shown in a much more unfavorable light here, but I promise things will get better, eventually. Just you wait. I let the characters wallow in misery for a time, then everything turns out okay in the end. This story as a whole is how Tumnus learns to forgive, and accept Edmund, and let the past be in the past. Tumnus may seem a hypocrite, but when you think about it, are you any better off yourself? Would you act any differently, if this were happening to you? _

_Was there someone who did something to you in the past, with whom you weren't so eager to be pals? It's easy to see the faults in other people, but not nearly so much in ourselves. _

_On a lighter note, my birthday's in nine days!  
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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08 **

_**All rights reserved. **_

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_"For the sake of your name, O Lord, forgive my iniquity, though it is great." _

**~ Psalms 25:11 (NIV)**

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"When you hold resentment toward another, you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link and get free."_

—_ Catherine Ponder_

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PART 2  
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_"Only you can make the ultimate decision."_ Beaver's words haunted Tumnus as the faun resumed his walk, like a ghost trailing in his wake.

_Well, I have made my decision, _Tumnus thought resolutely. _I won't forgive Edmund. Not now, not ever!_

Even so, he could feel an unpleasant knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

The truth was, somewhere deep in his soul, the faun acknowledged the sincerity of Edmund's penitence. He knew Edmund was truly sorry, but the greater, stronger part of him knew the apology had come too late. The damage had already been done. After all Tumnus had been through, how else was he supposed to feel? What else was he to do with the boy? What good would it do to forgive him, anyway? It wouldn't change anything; it certainly wouldn't change the past, nor would it erase the memories of suffering and horror.

Tumnus only shook his head, trying to shake off the ugly feelings that crawled over him like snakes, and kept going.

Presently, the faun encountered Sir Giles, the wily fox renowned for rescuing Lucy and her siblings from the Secret Police, and consequently saving them from falling into Jadis's hands. Like Tumnus, Sir Giles had also spent a good amount of time as a stone figure, and it was through the grace of Aslan alone that he was living and breathing today.

"Hello, Tumnus," the fox hailed him, his eyes bright and lively as coals in a lit fire. Seeing the ill humor Tumnus was in, he commented, "Scarf in too tight a knot, eh?"

"Never mind with the smart remarks, Giles," said Tumnus, unable to help the sullen note in his tone.

Sir Giles leveled off his ears at the faun, and his jaunty tail dropped considerably lower.

"Well," he said. "Which one of us has done something to the other, that you speak to me so coldly?"

"It's nothing," said Tumnus, just as he had done with Beaver. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Nothing against _you, _anyway."

"Well, you certainly act like the whole world's turned against you," Sir Giles countered.

"If there is anyone whom I truly have the right to be cross with, you know very well who he is."

Of course, there was no need to guess; Sir Giles already knew. It was no secret around the Cair that Tumnus and Edmund were not on the friendliest of terms with one another.

"You're still holding this against him?" said the fox, without sarcasm this time.

"What else am I supposed to do with him?" Tumnus demanded. "What reason do I have to not feel the way I do about that boy?"

Sir Giles sighed and bowed his head, acknowledging that Tumnus really _did_ have every right to be upset.

It had also been because of Edmund that Sir Giles wound up as a statue himself. The last thing Sir Giles remembered was the look on Edmund's face, and the shock and dismay at the boy's betrayal of not only his siblings but also of Narnia and of Aslan himself, and Jadis herself saying, "Thank you, Edmund. I'm glad this creature got to see some honesty…_before he dies!_" With that, before Sir Giles even had the chance to make any move, Jadis blasted him with her wand. There was a blinding glare of light, and a coldness that was like fire—and that was the end of it.

An involuntary shiver rippled along the fox's shoulders at the memory.

There was, truly, nothing more terrible than that. Eternal imprisonment in stone was a fate worse than death itself; it was something Sir Giles would never wish on his greatest enemy.

Tumnus seemed to read the fox's mind. "You could very well have been a statue forever," the faun said. "Were it not for Aslan, you wouldn't even be here."

He paused briefly, before adding tersely, "At least with_ you_, it had been quick and easy."

Sir Giles closed his eyes and dipped his head even further, but said nothing.

"Tell me," Tumnus told the little four-footed creature, after a long, intense moment, in a voice that dripped with venom. "Tell me you'd never felt what I feel now. Tell me you didn't feel rage, hatred, and disgust toward Edmund. Tell me that hating him for what he did to you, and wanting him to suffer every bit as much as he made you suffer, never once crossed your mind."

Such a thing would be a lie, Sir Giles knew.

But what could he have done about what someone else did? The only thing he could ever truly control was his own heart.

When the fox finally spoke, he said in a low, husky voice, his gaze centered on his black front paws, "Yes, Tumnus…I know what Edmund did to me. I haven't forgotten it, and I highly doubt I ever will. Even to this day, I think of everything that's come about; I think of the Witch, and my last impression of her, and I think of how fortunate I am to be alive."

"That's what I thought," Tumnus said.

Lifting his head somewhat higher, Sir Giles continued, "But then, hating Edmund for it doesn't make it all right, either. It only sickens me…sickens me with shame, and guilt."

Tumnus stared at his companion in disbelief. "How can you say that? Why should you feel like _you're_ the one who's in the wrong? Why should_ you_ harbor guilt for someone else's actions?"

There was a strange gleam in Sir Giles' eyes that Tumnus never saw before. Softly, with sad solemnity, the fox replied, "Because when I think poisonous thoughts about Edmund, when I go around despising him, longing to see him suffer…" Here, he stopped and remained silent for a decent amount of time, before he finished. "…well, how am I any better off than he is?"

Tumnus was astonished; he never would have thought someone as witty and jocular as Sir Giles could act and speak so wisely. He found the fox's little speech impressive, yet at the same time he resented it. It made no sense to him that Sir Giles should feel guilty for despising Edmund, when Edmund deserved to be despised, even exiled from Narnia altogether.

"So, that's it, then," said Tumnus crisply. "By letting your hate for Edmund go, that makes you even with him. That makes everything else absolutely peachy."

"I won't say it makes everything perfect," said Sir Giles meekly. "But it does make me feel better."

Tumnus only scoffed at that.

But all he said was, "Well, you do what _you _feel is right, Giles, and I'll do the same."

So saying, he strolled past the fox, and went his way, without looking back again. Sir Giles just stayed where he was, and watched the faun until he rounded a corner and disappeared.

* * *

"Lucy?" Edmund stood timidly at the edge of his sister's royal bedchamber.

Lucy, who was sitting on her bed with a good book cradled in her lap, raised her head at once. "Hello, Edmund," she greeted him enthusiastically, when she saw him. At first she was cheerful, but when she saw the look on her brother's face, her smile vanished in an instant. "Are you all right?" she asked in a worried voice, never hesitating to set her book aside. "What's wrong?"

"Can I talk to you?" Edmund asked humbly.

Traditionally, as the youngest sibling, Lucy was the one to come to him, or to Peter, or to Susan, when there was a problem. But for once, Edmund felt he could use Lucy's help.

"Yes, of course. Come in." So Edmund trudged over to the bed, and Lucy slid over to make room for him. He sank down onto the soft feather mattress, but he did not touch Lucy, or talk right away, or so much as look at her. He only sat in a slumped position, his head bowed, and his eyes fixed on his hands, which were folded quietly in his lap. Lucy could tell he was in deep distress about something. Slowly, she reached out her hand and began to rub his shoulder consolingly. "What is it?" she asked very gently. "Do tell me, Edmund."

"Lucy," said Edmund, when he felt he was in the condition to speak, "you meant it when you said you forgave me, right?"

It took Lucy a minute to realize what he was talking about. "Of course," she said earnestly.

"And you still consider me a brother, don't you?"

"You'll always be my brother, Edmund. Nothing can ever change that." Lucy now scooted in closer, and wrapped her arms around him. "If that's what's bothering you, don't worry." Nestling her head against his chest, the way she did at Aslan's camp, and tightening her hold on him, she whispered reassuringly, "I forgive you, Edmund—and I love you."

Edmund caught his breath at those words, most especially at the last three. Tears burned his eyes, but they would not grant him the relief of falling. Almost involuntarily, his own arms encircled Lucy's small, scrawny body and clasped her fervently to his own body. With his face buried in her silky red-gold hair, he muttered, "If only everyone else felt the same way."

Hearing this, Lucy pulled away from the embrace and gave Edmund a quizzical look.

"What do you mean?" she queried.

The look in Edmund's watery brown eyes was nothing short of pure torture, and he could hardly speak. "It's Tumnus," he half-croaked.

"Oh," said Lucy faintly, comprehension dawning on her face.

"I don't know what else to do," said Edmund with a deep groan. "I've tried everything to make it up to him, to let him know I'm sorry, and he still hates me."

Lucy was shocked to hear the dreadful word from her brother's own lips. She was especially stunned at the idea of her sweet friend Tumnus bearing a grudge like this.

She'd never imagined the faun as the hating type.

Yes, she could understand it perfectly if Tumnus was angry, but to still harbor such anger, after all this time…

"That's why I need you, Lu," Edmund went on. "I need you to talk to Tumnus for me. He never listens to me, but surely he'll listen to you, since you're on much better terms with him than I am."

Lucy sighed. She hated having to be the negotiator, particularly in these situations, but she couldn't very well refuse her brother. Edmund looked like he was pretty desperate. Furthermore, Lucy couldn't bear to have her brother and her best friend she'd ever had at such odds with one another. So she nodded submissively, and promised, "I will do my best."

Then Edmund swept her into a fierce hug, catching her off-guard and nearly stealing her breath away.

"Thank you," was the only thing Edmund could find to say. "Thank you."


	3. Part 3

**ABSOLUTION**

_Well, it's about time! I was starting to fear I'd get nowhere with this story. But I'm so glad the muse has made a comeback, for the time being, anyway. _

_I don't like seeing Tumnus this way any more than the rest of you do. Yet I must confess it's oddly refreshing to show him in a different light, where he's not always so kind and gentle. This makes him more human, if you'll pardon the pun. Flaws and weaknesses make a character more reliable and believable. This makes Tumnus less of a Gary Stu, something I'm striving to avoid in all of my stories, and not just my fan stories. _

_And the good news is that the worst is over. Tumnus slowly begins to mellow out from this point on._

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**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08 **

_**All rights reserved. **_

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_"Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?_  
_Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times: but, until seventy times seven."_

**~ St. Matthew 18:21—22 (KJV)**

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_"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."_

_ — Mahatma Gandhi_

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**PART 3**

Later that same day, while Tumnus was sulking in his private study, his sharp ears presently heard the dull thud of hooves and the rattle of armor outside his door.

He knew, even before he'd looked up, that his visitor was the centaur, Oreius, also known as General Oreius. As always, Oreius was decked out in full armor, with numerous swords and other handy weapons strapped to his flanks. Only his head was bare, so his sleek black hair and his handsome yet hardy face were on clear display. "General," the faun acknowledged the moment he saw him.

"Hello, Tumnus." Oreius's words were civil enough, but his tone was crisp.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to have a word with you," said the centaur as he sauntered forward and stood on the opposite end of Tumnus's desk.

Tumnus sighed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Can't a faun ever get a moment's peace around this place? When will people learn to just leave me alone?"

Oreius countered, "And when will _you _learn to stop being so infernally stubborn and thickheaded?"

In addition to the twinge of anger at the insult, Tumnus was a little impressed with Oreius's choice of words. "I assume you are speaking of my issue with our so-called 'Just King'?" He took care to avoid giving actual voice to Edmund's name.

"You are correct to assume." When Tumnus said nothing to this, Oreius went on tersely, "You know, Tumnus, sometimes I genuinely like you—"

"Well, thanks very much."

"—and other times, I would like nothing more than to squeeze your skinny neck."

A wave of hotness swept over Tumnus's face. He opened his mouth, as if to make a snappy comeback, but Oreius resolutely plowed on. "Really, Tumnus, in all honesty, I think enough is enough."

"So, the poor little king came crying to you and begged you to speak to me on his behalf? If that's the case, you're just wasting your time."

Oreius's nut-brown face flushed a notable shade of crimson. "You'd better watch that tongue of yours, boy!" he snapped, and Tumnus actually gave a small jump at the severity of his tone. "It's liable to get you into some serious trouble someday. Furthermore, Edmund had never done anything of the sort; I came of my own accord. I saw you two earlier today and heard everything that you said."

"Then you were spying on me."

Oreius looked as if Tumnus had mortally offended him. "I did absolutely nothing of the sort!" he said hotly, his eyes blazing. "I was simply passing by. _Do _excuse me for having a sharp ear. You weren't exactly quiet, you know."

Turning away from the big black centaur, Tumnus muttered, "Leave me alone, Oreius. This is none of your concern."

"Anything that concerns our Four Monarchs is a concern of mine. And somebody has to try to knock a bit of sense into you. Why must you be so blasted difficult about this, Tumnus? Why must you be so cruel to the boy?"

"I'm only giving him what he truly deserves."

"Is it for you to judge?" This caught Tumnus's attention right away, like a fish ensnared on a hook. He looked at Oreius again with an expression of mingled anger and bewilderment, and Oreius told the faun in a low but very brusque tone, "You seem to think it's your duty to pass judgment to others, to make the punishment as swift and severe as possible—when that role belongs to our Lord, Aslan."

"Well, what about you, Oreius?" Tumnus shot back. "If I recall correctly, you yourself deemed Edmund a traitor. There was a time, not so long ago, when you were just as mistrustful of him as anyone else."

He could tell from Oreius's face that his words had struck home. Oreius closed his eyes for a moment, as if the memory were painful. But when he had recovered himself and could speak, he said quite calmly, "I will not deny that that had been the case at one point." In another moment, he continued, "But now I know Edmund better, and I renounce my former opinion of him, for now and for all time."

"That doesn't mean I have to do the same as you," said Tumnus tenaciously, though he felt his stomach give a slight squirm.

"He is only a child," Oreius persisted.

"That's no excuse."

"He has proven he has changed for the better—and I just can't believe you brushed him off the way you did, after he explicitly told you he was sorry."

"Simply being sorry is not good enough. It's nowhere near half good enough."

"Edmund has done everything in his power to show you he truly regrets what he's done. What more do you want?"

"I just can't forgive him, Oreius."

"You mean, you won't."

"What else can I do? Do you truly expect me to just let it all go? You think I can simply 'forget' about everything? Imagine if one of your limbs was cut off during battle. Sure, you may still be alive, but is that something you can forget so easily?"

"I don't expect you to forget it. No one does. But you don't have to shun Edmund like a foul disease, either. It's true that you suffered dearly, but so has he. What you're doing only rubs further salt into the wound."

Tumnus clenched his fists, knowing that Oreius was right, yet not wanting to admit it.

"Furthermore, by refusing to forgive Edmund, you're proving yourself a hypocrite."

"Hypocrite?" Tumnus repeated the word like it was alien.

"In case it's slipped your mind, _faun,_"—Oreius nearly spat it out—"Edmund wasn't the only one rubbing elbows with the White Witch."

Tumnus knew Oreius was reminding him of his own time spent in Jadis's employment. He bristled, feeling like a rabbit who had been cornered by an unrelenting wolf. "That was different," he said succinctly. "I was in an extremely dangerous position, as were we all. I was merely doing what I could to stay alive. Unlike Edmund, I wasn't some arrogant, pampered, self-absorbed brat who was taken in by promises of candy and special treatment. Unlike the boy, I couldn't afford to take chances. I only did what I did because I didn't want any trouble."

"So, you believe that automatically justifies you, don't you? You think Edmund ought to be punished forever for his alliance with the Witch, while you get off scot-free?"

Tumnus opened his mouth, but closed it again a second later, unsure of how to respond to that last statement.

"If I told you to tie a stone around your neck and throw yourself into the sea," Oreius continued, "and you obeyed me, it would still be suicide."

A long, weighty silence followed this speech.

"Leave me," was the only thing Tumnus could find to say.

For a brief moment, Oreius looked quite ready to slap Tumnus's face. In those few intense seconds, Tumnus feared that he would; when Oreius lifted a large hand into the air, Tumnus instinctively shielded his face with his arm and recoiled. But then Oreius's hand simply dropped to his side. He gazed down at Tumnus for a minute or so longer, his face a mix of emotions, before he finally did as he was asked and headed for the door.

Just before he set hoof over the threshold, however, he did have one thing more to say. Though Tumnus couldn't see his face, the general's voice sounded oddly strained as he said, "Don't do this, Tumnus. You will regret it the rest of your life if you do. Nothing good can ever come out of harboring poison from the past. Let it go, Tumnus; for your sake, as much as Edmund's or anyone else's. _Let—it—go._"

With that, he was gone, as though he was never there in the first place.

When Tumnus sensed he was truly alone, he sank back in his chair and buried his face in his hands.


	4. Part 4

**ABSOLUTION**

_Surprise! Another chapter! Are you excited? I sure am. With luck, this story will be completed somewhat soon. We only got a couple more chapters after this; it's a fairly short story. _

_You will be glad to know that this is the chapter where Tumnus finally has a change of heart. This is where we reach that pivotal point. I've been totally itching to write this part since the very beginning, and now that I finally have, I can only hope and pray that I've done it well, that I haven't let my loyal readers down. Be sure to let me know what you think of this, and please try to be kind in your reviews, if you would be so kind. _

_Reviews are like icing on cake: they're not absolutely essential, but they're most definitely a nice touch.  
_

_For the record, Sir Giles Fox is not the original name of the fox, as I'd thought it was. The name was actually invented by elecktrum. I'd seen other people use that name in their Narnia stories, and I just naturally assumed that was his true name. I wasn't intentionally ripping elecktrum off, but I spoke to her about this and she's cool with it.  
_

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**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08 **

_**All rights reserved. **_

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_"Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."_

**~ Colossians 3:13 (NIV)**

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_"To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."_

_ — Lewis B. Smedes  
_

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**PART 4  
**

How long Tumnus sat slumped at his desk with his hands pressed to his face, he had no way of knowing. It could have been hours, minutes, perhaps only seconds, and he neither knew nor cared about the difference.

The faun felt as if his heart were being torn two ways. Part of him was still adamant about withholding forgiveness from Edmund, about refusing to let his hate and hurt go. Yet the other, wiser part knew he couldn't go on like this.

If Tumnus was being completely truthful with himself, he didn't like the way he was feeling. He didn't like the creature he had become. He didn't like being so angry and bitter all the time. Bitterness was indeed a poison, like they said; already, Tumnus could feel it sickening him. Part of him wanted to sincerely forgive Edmund, to let it all be water under the bridge, yet for some reason his pride kept getting in the way.

Every time the very thought of forgiving the boy came to mind, his pride would rise up like a solid wall.

Tumnus sighed heavily, shaking his head morosely from side to side. "What am I to do?" he groaned into his palms.

The words his friends had spoken to him earlier resounded in his head, over and over, like the ominous tolls of a bell. He recalled what Beaver had said: _"Only you can make the ultimate decision."_

Then there was Sir Giles: _"When I think poisonous thoughts about Edmund, when I go around despising him, longing to see him suffer, how am I any better off than he is?"_

But it was Oreius's words that truly struck home: _"You think Edmund ought to be punished forever for his alliance with the Witch, while you get off scot-free?"_

Tumnus thought his skull would split from all this serious thinking. Feeling restless, the faun stood up once more and went for another little stroll around the castle.

As if with a mind of their own, his legs carried him outside, to one of the royal courtyards, where a good many apple trees grew. Tumnus selected a solitary spot in a cluster of trees, where he stood the smallest chance of being disturbed. Quietly, he settled onto the soft grass and leaned forward, letting his hairy arms rest against his hairy haunches. Once more he sighed, and rubbed his unshaven face wearily with both hands.

Though he didn't want to think about it, it was impossible to drive his current situation from his mind, least of all from his heart. Was Oreius right? When it came to siding with the White Witch, did Tumnus honestly think that he was better than Edmund, that he could get off the hook while Edmund suffered the consequences of _his_ actions? True, their situations with the Witch had been different—or had they?

Beyond that, could Tumnus truly forgive Edmund for what he had done? What good would that do, if any? When Tumnus turned the boy down that afternoon, when he was giving him the cold shoulder in the Cair these last few weeks, he'd felt entirely justified, so certain that he was in the right. But now…now he wasn't so sure anymore. It was like trying to find the solution to a riddle more complex and tangled than he originally expected.

"_Aslan._" Tumnus did not even realize it when the sacred name passed from his lips.

Yet the next thing he knew, there was a soft golden glow beside him, even though the sun had nearly disappeared beyond the horizon, and a voice as mighty as the sea and as gentle as a caress addressed him:

"Tumnus, my child."

With a start, Tumnus jerked his head around to discover the Great Lion himself perched alongside him, his long tail curled docilely around his front paws. Their shoulders barely touched. Aslan's sleek hide gleamed luxuriously in spite of the increasingly dimming light, while his opulent mane shone like the purest gold. His deep, tawny eyes seemed to penetrate Tumnus's very soul.

For a moment, Tumnus couldn't move, couldn't speak, could scarcely so much as breathe. When at last he found his tongue, he could just barely stammer, "Aslan."

Aslan tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Yes, my son. I am here."

Tumnus marveled at the way Aslan spoke to him: not loudly, curtly, or condescendingly, as if the faun were a child or a simpleton. Rather, his voice only emanated pure warmth, patience, thoughtfulness—and love.

It was indeed like a father addressing his son.

"I sense there is something troubling you, young faun," said the Lion softly, "a burden that weighs heavily on your heart."

Tumnus knew it would do no good to even try to hide it. Nor could he respond with sarcasm or spite; somehow, he found it impossible to pick a quarrel with Aslan.

Also, he had a queer feeling that Aslan had a perfect knowledge of what had been going on between him and Edmund, yet he wanted to hear it from Tumnus's own lips.

Aslan had a way of getting others to talk without threatening them or laying so much as a claw on them. So while Tumnus heaved out a long, jaded sigh and hung his head, he did not hesitate. "It's Edmund, sir. I—I don't know what to do about him. I can't stand the sight of him, yet I can't stand the way I feel toward him, either. I feel like he's unfit to be our King. I feel like he doesn't belong here, or anywhere. What he did to me—to us all—"

"I know what he did to you," Aslan cut in gently. "Your sufferings have truly been great. Time has yet to heal the wounds. The wounds of the heart are much deeper and slower to mend than those of the flesh."

Tumnus nodded bleakly.

"As terribly as you have been hurt," Aslan continued, "does it hurt any less to nurture a grudge? Does bearing anger and hostility make the wounds heal any faster?"

"No," was all Tumnus could find to say.

"You don't think Edmund is capable of receiving mercy." When Tumnus remained silent, Aslan lowered his voice significantly. "Should I not have had mercy on _you_, then?"

Tumnus felt these words catch onto his heart. Stunned, at a loss for words, the faun could only stare at the Lion, looking as one who had been struck dumb.

"Was there not a time when you stood before me," Aslan asked him, "frightened, desperate, yearning for my pity? Yet I took pity on you…as I also took pity on Edmund."

Now Aslan had Tumnus's full attention. The faun remained utterly motionless; he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. He still couldn't speak, and any words he might have had were inadequate anyway.

Aslan gazed pensively ahead, almost like he was gazing into another realm. Though the Lion's voice was neither loud nor harsh, though he didn't sound remotely angry, what he said next pierced Tumnus as deeply as though someone drove a two-edged sword directly through him: "All creatures are sinful, Tumnus. There is no one in Narnia, no one who has ever lived or will ever live in this world—or the worlds beyond—who is without spot or blemish. Yet I love them all just the same, as my Father loves them. Every soul is precious to me. So precious, in fact, that I was willing to give my life on the Stone Table, to suffer untold pain and humiliation to appease the demands of the Deep Magic, so that all may have an opportunity to be forgiven of what they've done wrong."

Tumnus's heart started beating faster. His stomach tightened. His legs trembled, and he would surely have fallen to the ground had he not already been sitting.

"I let the Witch take me in Edmund's stead," Aslan continued, as quietly and serenely as ever. "I allowed my own blood to be shed on his behalf. I did it because I loved him…and if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice. I would gladly die a thousand times, Tumnus, if it meant you and Edmund and all my other children would live."

Tears welled up in Tumnus's eyes, making Aslan and the rest of his surroundings go blurry.

"While it is true that Edmund's sins are great, he has sincerely repented of them, and I have just as sincerely forgiven the young Son of Adam. Who are you, then, to condemn?"

Those last words were all it took to completely shatter Tumnus.

It was as if someone had opened a spigot in him and drained him of all his ill feelings. Any pride he'd had now lay shattered in pieces. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, and he saw what he'd refused to see before.

Now it was the faun's turn to feel shame.

If someone as great as Aslan could forgive Edmund, who was Tumnus to think he knew any better? Was he truly so wicked a creature as to make a total mockery of the Lion's love and sacrifice?

That was about as low as it went, if not lower.

For the first time, it really struck Tumnus how blind he had been, how foolish. Guilt such as he never would have believed possible smote him, threatening to crush him with its awesome weight. His tears broke out onto his face, soaking his skin in no time. Unable to look at Aslan, he dropped his face into his hands and began to weep like a child. His whole frame heaved and shook with the intensity of his barely suppressed sobs.

Aslan stayed with him the whole time he wept. There were so many other things the Lion could have said, but he didn't say them. There was no need.

"Oh, Aslan," Tumnus choked out at one point, face still hidden, "Aslan…forgive me." No sooner had he given utterance to this plea than the faun felt the sharp sting of reproach.

What right did he have to ask for Aslan's forgiveness? How could he expect to be forgiven when he had gone out of his way to deny forgiveness?

"It is not my forgiveness alone you must seek, my son," Aslan answered quietly. "You know what it is you must do to truly set things right."

By the time Tumnus managed to get some hold of himself, when he at last opened his eyes and lifted his head again, Aslan was gone. There was not a trace of him to be seen, no sign that he was ever there in the first place.

For just a moment, Tumnus wondered whether his encounter with the Lion had been real, but his heart knew the truth.

He also knew what it was he needed to do. He had put it off for so long…far too long. He only hoped and prayed it wasn't too late now. Slowly, somewhat unsteadily, he climbed to his hooves, taking a moment to brush off his legs and wipe his tear-streaked face, trying to make himself a little more presentable. He closed his eyes, drew in several slow breaths, and began to tentatively make his way back to the castle.

It was virtually all he could do to place one hoof in front of the other. More than once, he was sorely tempted to drop the whole thing, to turn tail and run away. But he braced himself and kept going.

Just as he was coming into the castle, he ran into Lucy, who had been looking for him for the last hour or so. "Mr. Tumnus—there you are!" said the girl when she saw him, looking and sounding both relieved and worried.

She was just about to tell him she needed to speak with him when he asked, "Where is Edmund?"

She looked at him skeptically. "What?"

"I must speak with your brother, right now if possible. Do you know where I may find him?"

"Why?" Lucy was afraid to ask. "What are you going to do with him?"

"That is between him and me." Seeing the girl's almost terrified expression, Tumnus gently reassured his little friend, "Don't worry, Lucy. Everything is going to be all right."

Inwardly, he added, _At least, that's my hope. _


End file.
